


Up All Night To Get

by IncurableNecromantic



Category: Sonic the Hedgehog (2020)
Genre: Escort Service, F/M, Gay Man Experiments With Sexuality Through Sex With a Woman, God's Most Patient Call Girl Makes A Killing, I know, Local Man Represses Everything Including Own Repression, Loss of Virginity, Prostitution, Sex Work, het? from this Ink?, yet it is true
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-03
Updated: 2021-01-03
Packaged: 2021-03-12 15:21:33
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,964
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28512582
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/IncurableNecromantic/pseuds/IncurableNecromantic
Summary: “Normal. Nice. No talking down or teasing about my first time. Must be highly intelligent. Must have brown hair and brown eyes.”
Relationships: Dr. Eggman | Dr. Robotnik/Agent Stone (implied), Dr. Eggman | Dr. Robotnik/OFC
Comments: 3
Kudos: 29





	Up All Night To Get

**Author's Note:**

  * For [BlondieBun](https://archiveofourown.org/users/BlondieBun/gifts).



> Written in collaboration with BlondieBun, and with betaing grâce à the same.
> 
> Inspired by @sindevilnsfw's art on Twitter: https://twitter.com/sindevilnsfw/status/1344867213740810240

Now at the low-ebb of a sugar rush, Veronica Vasquez cups her cheek in one hand and pecks “Screw Flanders” into the end of her comparative philosophy essay. As she crosses a final hundred words, _Written? Kitten!_ awards her a low-res photo of a squinty orange tabby. She sighs and pops the essay into a Word doc and hits “spell check.” Her tacky Target swivel chair creaks as she leans back and scoops up her phone.

Anouk’s name was on the top of her Signal messages.

‘Hey, Lucky. Got a client for tomorrow at 8 if you’re working. Christie can’t do it. ✌️’

Veronica opens the attached file and scrolls right past the photo and personal information. She checks the “requests” portion first, because if she is about to wriggle into a leather bodysuit she wants to know sooner than later.

> “Normal. Nice. No talking down or teasing about my first time. Must be highly intelligent. Must have brown hair and brown eyes.”

Veronica scrolls for more details. There aren’t any.

Most people gave her paragraphs of instructions. Nobody called her agency without an elaborate fiction in mind—be my Bond girl, join me for dinner at an embassy and do me in the limo, put me on a dog leash and read Chaucer aloud. There isn’t even a mention of makeup or clothes.

What’s the catch? She scrolls back up.

Career: Mechanical engineer, military consultant. Fat stacks, then—contracting is where the money is, as well as the control issues. Personal background: single. Escort experience: None.

Then an addendum: No experience whatsoever.

She glances at the personal details. She’s been around the block enough not to be surprised that a 57-year-old man would still be a virgin, but the fact that he’s deciding to lose it now does raise a flag of neutral color in her head. Very bad control issues? A weirdo?

But she doesn’t have anything going on tomorrow at 8 p.m., and it’ll be at the agency’s building. Billy will be up like a shot if she pulls the hook.

She hits Anouk back with a quick ‘I’m your girl’ and sends the essay to her professor. Two steps from the desk, she swears, turns around, and sends an updated version with nine “Screw Flanders”s deleted.

* * *

She brings her most challenging homework along to the meeting. He said he wanted intelligence, right? And this way, if he’s late or he gets cold feet, at least she’ll have something to work on. Funky instrumental jazz works just as well for studying as for sex.

The agency handles all of the details, so besides an appointment time they don’t have any information about each other. That’s the way she likes it. She’s been doing this for three years now, and besides letting her spidey sense do the driving when she gets a weird vibe, she doesn’t get nerves any more. You lose a lot of fear of consequences the first time you see an ex-date while you’re escorting at a state dinner. There’s a lot to be said for making a Prime Minister go all bug-eyed at the bat of your lashes.

She still brushed up on current events and read a copy of the Economist before she arrived, just in case they’re going out. It’s possible they’ll have dinner—8 p.m. would be the right time for it—but when men want a night on the town, they tend to like to pick her up. Her cream and blush dress could get her in most anywhere, especially with her tits looking as nice as they do tonight. If there’s a gala, she’ll have to change.

But his request sounded like he was a man on a mission. Call it ESP, but she’s pretty sure they’re staying in.

Anyway, she’s focused on translating Sanskrit and not watching the clock when the keycard slips into the lock. She looks up and puts on a welcoming smile as the door opens.

The man in the doorway is... a lot. Handsome, kind of, though the mustache is pretty distracting. He’s wearing his 57 well. He’s tall and gangly and well, if restrictively, dressed. She clocks the gloves immediately. (One point in the Weirdo category.)

As for his expression, he looks at her with wide eyes and a clenched jaw. For a second she’s sure he’s a creep—then a second later, she’s still pretty sure he’s very weird, but his clear unease is written all over his face. He’s not aggressive. He looks scared.

She’s had a few skittish guys before. No problem.

“Hello,” she says, smiling and standing up. “I’m Lucky. It’s nice to meet you…?”

“Doctor,” he says. He manages to let the door shut behind him and hovers in the foyer. He stuffs his hands in his pockets. “Ro— ck. Fort. Dr. Rockfort.”

She opens her mouth to continue.

“You may call me Ivo.” He clears his throat. “I’d prefer it if you called me Ivo.”

“Ivo, then. Please, come in.”

He takes one more step, scanning her, and then spots her homework on the coffee table. “Ah, the Bhagavata Purana. Canto 10 is the best part."

Lucky smiles her best unflappable hostess smile. Okay. He’s one hundred percent a weirdo. But he seems to be making an effort to be engaging and sociable. So despite how bafflingly impressive that pull was, she’s going to march on.

“You must like theatre, then!”

“Dancing. The choreographic themes that come from the Purana are interesting, inasmuch as derivative works can be. Kuchipudi and Odissi are a better use of an evening than Broadway, at least. You’re not Indian.”

Woof. Swings and roundabouts with this one. He’s taken a few steps closer and Lucky gestures to a chair. She sits down on the sofa—he stands behind the chair, keeping it between them and perching his hands on the back.

Nervous. Very stressed. And rather strange.

“Mexican-Korean. I studied Odissi a little on a school trip to Cuttack. I’m no good at it, but it was fascinating to feel it for myself.”

He nods, seeming to approve, and drums his fingers along the chair.

“Would you like a cup of coffee?” she offers. “It was cold out when I was walking around earlier."

His expression tenses, steel entering his eyes. Military contractor indeed. “I’m not going to fall asleep on you. I’m not a geezer.”

Oh, please. “It was a hint that I’d like a cup of coffee, myself. Am I making enough for two?”

His shoulders ease and he nods, short and sharp. She might’ve known that he wasn’t intuitive. As the evening progresses, she should explain her actions before taking them. That can be very sexy. It seems to work on people in blindfolds or latex.

“We do have a milk steamer. Do you want regular or an espresso drink?”

“Latte.” He tilts his head. “Do you make those?”

“Sure do. You’re lucky you got a girl who used to be a barista,” she smiles.

“I thought you were Lucky.”

His voice is dry and she lets out a little, genuine laugh. So he’s not a complete robot. He gets humor. That’ll make things easier—not that she’s going to give him much to laugh about.

He’s too prickly to have fun with. It’ll have to be pretty straight-forward. There’s nothing wrong with that. She likes romance, but not at work. Clear directions and a lack of pretense can make a shift much easier to get through.

“You can sit down—I’ll be a moment. Feel free to go over my translation.” She stands and sets her shoulders back. She knows how to work a room. Her walk is meant to show off her long legs, her graceful back, her great ass. She’ll need to know what turns him on if she’s going to rock his world.

When she reaches the espresso machine, she glances back enough to see him out of the tail of her eye. Ivo didn’t look. He swooped down to her work and started reading it, folding himself up to take a seat on the sofa.

Okay. No doubt he’s comfortable with intellectual pursuits, but he did hire her to have sex with him. He should at least look over the goods.

(Lucky doesn’t assume. She’s had too much experience. But there is something about him… Maybe the mustache? Or just the vibe. Her gaydar is pinging in the back of her head. But he asked for a woman. He might not have experience, but he doesn’t strike her as a man who doesn’t go after what he wants. Nothing to do but see how it goes.)

“There you are. Caffè latte a la Lucky.”

She makes sure their fingers brush when she hands him the cup, and that she’s posed at a good angle for him to look down her dress. His wide, dark eyes dart up to her as soon as he realizes she’s near, but he takes the cup all the same.

"...grazie."

“Prego!” Lucky takes a sip of her coffee and sits beside him. “Do you mind if we talk specifics? I’d like to know if there is anything you want to try. Or that you know we should avoid.”

Ivo tenses and stares at the papers in his hand. He takes two deep breaths through his nose. She crosses her legs in his sight-line and he watches. That’s good.

“Vanilla. You can take the lead but I don’t want any violence in bed.” His words have a mechanical rhythm to them, like he’s been practicing it in front of the mirror. “I understand the technical aspects but I’ve never put it into practice. You’re the expert here, and I’ll follow your lead. The gloves stay on.”

Well, that broke better than she thought it might. At least he won’t be a weirdo who fingers her badly.

“I can do that. You’re still in charge here, so don’t be afraid to speak up if I do something you don’t like. But I also want you to tell me if I do something good,” she says. She places her hand on his knee and leans into him a little. He doesn’t move, but he doesn’t tense. “Okay?”

“Fine,” he mutters. He’s looking anywhere but her.

She raises her other hand to his face to have him look at her. She goes in for a kiss.

“Already?” he squeaks, when her mouth is a hair’s breadth away from his.

Lucky stops. “We don’t have to go fast.”

“No! I’m confirming. You’re just— jumping in.”

She leans back and starts to pull her hand away. He grabs her hand, pressing it to his face.

“Let’s talk about it a little more, then.”

“No!” His voice rises in a way that doesn’t seem entirely within his control. He struggles to lower it again. “Listen, I have a goal, here.”

“Yes?"

“I’ve decided to have a sexual encounter with a competent professional as part of sociological research on the relational behavior of human beings. For the sake of scientific inquiry. Even though virginity is a sexist, outmoded, biologically-irrelevant concept.”

Lucky smiles a little. "Agreed."

“I’m going to get rid of mine. I’ve hired you to help take out the trash.”

The words are harsh, but the tone really isn’t. Lucky isn’t here to work on anyone’s emotional issues. Whatever’s down in this particular pit of his soul they’re strolling along the brink of, call her Christopher Columbus, because she ain’t discovering shit.

Still, it doesn’t quite sit right. Maybe this is a chore for her—after all, it is her job—but it shouldn’t be a chore for him.

“Okay,” she says. “That’s a reasonable goal. Do you have a definition for virginity we should use tonight?”

Ivo chews on that for a minute. As he’s thinking, Lucky thumbs over his knee. He’s boney under his clothes. Strange man—he’s handsome enough that someone must’ve wanted to do this with him before. She can think of a few of her friends, men and women, who have talked about liking older men, or tall white boys, or nerds. It’s not a long walk to imagine it must be a personality thing or a function of his own preferences.

Well, she’ll do her bit to make sure it’s a positive experience. He can be as goal-oriented as he likes, but if he’s come to a competent professional it stands to reason that he wants to have a good time: something he doesn’t regret, if the reality of sex turns out to not be all it’s cracked up to be.

“For males, it’s commonly associated with ejaculation inside a partner’s body cavities,” he mumbles. “The oral cavity is—arbitrarily—considered an exception. For the sake of completeness I should insert my penis into your vagina and ejaculate. This will be protected sex. Under ideal circumstances, you should also undergo an orgasm at my hands.”

He leans ever so slightly into the hand on his face, avoiding her eyes.

“We can do that,” she says. “And I’m allowed to add in extras when I see fit. It’s hard to get anything mechanically done if you’re not feeling pleasure. But you’ll cum inside me. Don’t worry about that.”

He shivers a little, knee bouncing under her hand. Lucky runs her thumb over his cheekbone and presses her lips feather-light against his.

He melts like butter in the sun, head tilting into her hand. He doesn’t know how to kiss, but her touch is welcome. The way he leans in tells her he hasn’t been touched in a long time.

There’s a strong possibility that this is his first kiss. He tries to do it right. He must’ve done some reading to know that you don’t just jam your tongue into someone’s mouth. Lucky starts small, showing him what a nice kiss is like, how it can be relaxing and gentle. Undemanding.

She pets his cheek, humming encouragingly when he fumbles to lock lips with her. He sighs from the depths of his body and his hands stay stuck on the sofa cushion.

“This okay?” she breathes.

A furrow appears between his brows, then vanishes. “Fine.”

“More?”

He swallows and nods. Lucky kisses him again, slipping her tongue just under his upper lip. His shaky little gasp is cute and at last he moves one of his hands. He reaches for the hand on his knee and takes her wrist, lifting it to the other side of his face and holding it there.

As they touch, she finds herself drawing a picture of this man’s life. It’s sad. She strokes his pretty cheekbones and he lets her take her time with him. When she breaks the kiss, he tries to chase her. He opens his mouth to protest, but now it’s her turn to cut him off.

“I can tell you’re enjoying this, but what I want to do next will be much more comfortable if I can get closer.”

He nods, breathing a touch too fast.

“Good,” she murmurs. “Just relax.”

Lucky stands, takes a few steps to position herself, and slides her arms around his neck as she makes herself at home on his lap. His hands stammer in the air, hovering inches from her hips. She takes his wrists and sets his hands on her waist.

“There. How’s that?”

“Fine.”

“More kissing?”

“As long as there’s a point to it,” he grumbles. “Yes.”

Lucky rubs his shoulders. “I thought I was leading. Competent professional, remember? Are we changing the script?”

He huffs, annoyed, but he’s beet red and when he looks at her his eyes are shipwrecked. He’s so lost she almost laughs.

“You’re the expert,” he allows.

She kisses the uncertain wrinkle of his mouth. When she cups his cheeks, his hands stay on her waist. Good boy. He can learn.

His mustache tickles. It’s going to be all mussed up by the time they’re done. She finds she doesn’t mind that thought at all. She’s allowed to have some fun at work, after all, and mussing up the severely-styled ‘do of a handsome man is one of the perks.

Lucky pets his face and smoothes her hands down to settle on either side of his neck. He tightens his grip on her sides and nudges his tongue against the seam of her lips. Lucky meets him and slips her tongue into his mouth, playing with him a little before drawing back.

“Thumbs up? Thumbs down?”

In the furrow of his brow she can see him trying to gather his thoughts. Speechless. Fun.

“… not as good as the other kind.”

“Mm. How about this, then?” He’s wearing a high collar but she can still drop her head and kiss the skin right behind his jaw.

Ivo gasps in a breath. His leg jumps like he’s been shocked. Lucky pauses.

“Hm?”

“That’s— I don’t— that’s, uh t-too—“

“It’s okay. I won’t do it again,” Lucky promises, petting his jaw with her thumb. She examines him and sees that he’s red to the hairline.

“I liked that,” he stammers. “Too much. Best you, uh… don’t.”

Too much? She knows he’s control-freaky. Gloves and the severeness of his look tell him that. ‘Too much’ means he might lose his head and he doesn’t want to be vulnerable. She can respect that but also… there is something else it could be.

“Ivo,” she murmurs, and he looks like she just pinned his heart to the wall. “If it’s working for you, that’s pretty useful. We want you to feel good, right?”

Ivo swallows. His throat clicks. His eyes slide away as he observes some internal battle miles away from here. She has no idea if he’s losing, but she strokes his cheek and he clenches his jaw. Too much, then. Not in a good way.

“... Later. I liked it, but for later. Back to kissing.” He must have made some kind of deal in his head, to be able to say it so firmly.

Lucky nods and presses her body up against his. She runs warm. He doesn’t flinch under her weight, allowing some of her softness to find a resting place against his bones and angles. She kisses him and draws his hand up along her side to her breast, encouraging him to feel. He obeys her wordless instruction, but when he doesn’t seem to be lingering she helps him slide down to her thigh. He huffs. His brow knits.

“Tell me,” she breathes, close to him. They stop kissing while he thinks. She can feel the weight of his gaze dragging over her body. His hands are as still as stone.

“I... it’s... I intended to like this. Your physical measurements are ratiometrically ideal for the broadest cross-section of American heterosexual attraction. Moreover, there’s artistic skill and taste in your presentation.” He swallows. “And it’s not doing anything. It works for others. I’ve seen it.”

She watches him parse this for several seconds.

“You might just not be a tits man.” Lucky shrugs, even as he splutters. “Happens all the time. How about something else?”

She covers his hands and slides them down to her ass, encouraging him to squeeze. His eyes bug and she smiles, giving him a pop of a kiss on the cheek.

“Better?”

He makes a noise like a strangled muppet. She kisses him again, if only to keep herself from laughing, before backing off and slipping her dress up and over her head.

He stares. Lucky preens and tosses her hair—perhaps it’s a little overwhelming, all that skin at once. His mouth falls open for a second and she smiles, slipping back into his lap.

“It’s a nice ass, huh?” she asks, rocking her butt into his hands.

He nods.

They match. Him in his Higher Class of Unibomber blacks, her in her lacy ebony bralette and silky panties. The gloves feel a little strange on her skin, but it’s not unpleasant. Pebbled leather, like he wants to get a grip. Lucky kisses him again, playing with the hem of his turtleneck.

Ivo holds onto her like she’s keeping him steady, and his hands tighten when she slips a hand under his shirt. He’s not cool to the touch, but he’s not warm. His skin is soft. He shivers underneath her and his leg bounces again. Maybe that’s his tell for when something is good. Or maybe he’s just twitchy.

Lucky slides her hand up his belly. She can feel the hair on his stomach and chest, wondering if he’s at all manscaped. As she kisses him she brushes her fingertips over his left nipple. He moans right into her mouth and makes Lucky smile—he _is_ kinda cute, all buttoned up like this.

“Yeah?” she breathes.

He kisses her in response, one hand jumping from her ass to cover her hand through his shirt. He squeezes her fingers, trying to make her do it harder. She rewards him, tweaking and starting to rub. She tugs on the hem of his sweater.

“This, and your coat, hm? Let me see.”

She leans up and away so he has room. He slowly lets go of her ass and shrugs the jacket off. She helps him take it off and folds it over the edge of the couch. He’s meticulous and nods in approval. No wrinkled clothes on the floor then.

The sweater underneath the coat is tight across his chest, made of a fine fabric. She rewards him with a kiss for taking off his jacket and he takes it, seemingly grateful for familiar territory. He’s a fast learner.

“Shirt off, darling,” she murmurs against his lips. “I want to see.”

He freezes. She opens her mouth to apologize, but Ivo surges up and gives her another kiss.

His voice rasps like he’s dying of thirst. “Call me that again.”

Aha. Got ‘im.

“Anything you like, darling,” Lucky smiles.

He pulls himself out of his sweater, all jerks and angles even with her hands to help him. The neckline knocks his hair all ahoo and he scrubs his mustache back into some semblance of order—not that it will last.

He looks smaller with his shirt off. She can see his ribs. He’s so *pale* with that dark, dark hair, so much so that she thinks he might even dye it. The hair on his chest isn’t as dark. He even has a little grey patch.

Lucky sets her hands on his shoulders and slides them all the way down to his belt. She kisses him again, and again, before dropping her head and placing a soft kiss on his collarbone. It makes his head rock back and he sighs.

She mouths all the way along the bone to the notch and then the dip, running her hands over him. His hands settle on her ass again and Lucky hums approvingly.

She reaches between his legs. He wheezes a breath, blushing hard all over again as she rubs the heel of her hand against the bulge in his pants.

Aww. He’s little. That works for her—big cocks are not all they’re cracked up to be, especially not if you have to work with them all day. It still feels like there’s plenty to work with, in any case. And the smaller guys get the hardest.

“How’s that?” she breathes.

“Uh,” he manages. He wriggles his legs apart to let her get closer; she rewards him with a rub and a pinch on his yet-unmolested nipple.

“Uh-huh? You like that, Ivo, darling?”

He whines like a puppy.

“Good. Hips up.”

Ivo squirms, gulping a little when she raises herself with her thighs to straddle his waist and help him off with his trousers. She realizes he’s wearing sneakers, nice ones. For a second she wonders what side of the Puma/Adidas divide he falls on, before she realizes he’s wearing sock garters and almost falls off his lap.

That tears it. There is no way this man is straight.

Ivo looks at her like she’s about to drown him. Lucky takes him up on it, settling back down and rolling her hips against him in time with a long, leisurely kiss. His cock is making a wet spot against his underpants.

“Here’s good? Or do you want to move to the bed?”

He tries hard not to tell her the truth. But it comes out anyway, mumbled into her lips. “‘m already worked up.”

“Let’s stay here, then.” Lucky eases up. “Kiss my skin a little.”

Ivo drops his head and fumbles his mouth at her neck. He got hard fast for a guy his age, although maybe anxiety is doing the heavy lifting. She’ll let him cool off. If he cums too soon, she already knows there will be nothing she can say to make it better.

He kisses her neck, as uncomfortable with this as he was with kissing her lips. Lucky strokes the back of his head and sighs for him, petting him as his hands venture back up to her waist. His mouth is warm, and his mustache is well-maintained, but she’s going to have some beard burn from his jaws. She counts to 100, then reaches to kiss him again.

Lucky sucks his tongue for a moment or two before reaching for the drawer of the end table. She flicks through her options and holds up a condom for him. He squints to read the label, then nods. Lucky prowls her way off of him and stands up so he can see her shimmy her panties off.

“Your turn,” she says. He responds remarkably well to gentle orders. But perhaps he’s just resolved that he wants this. Something about him tells her there are men in his professional life that would give their eye teeth to have him behaving—though not, necessarily, under the same circumstances.

He gets his briefs down his legs and stuffs them into his pants pocket. Once he’s naked he writhes on the sofa, trying to get comfortable, a hand almost unconsciously shielding his cock until she comes back to sit in his lap. She covers him with her legs and her arms, kissing the corner of his mouth. He’s stiff as a board.

Lucky pets his hair until he uncoils.

“This is a good position for the first time. When you’re inside me, we can grind on each other and still kiss.” 

Lucky kisses his neck, his jaw, and drops her head to lap at one of his nipples. He keens beneath her, wrapping his arms around her waist.

“Ready?” she asks into his neck.

“Do it,” he mutters. His brow is creased like a croissant. It’s not exactly enthusiastic consent, and then he whispers, “Please.”

Lucky reaches back into the drawer for a bottle of lube. She spills some onto her fingers and runs them along her vulva, sighing. “Do you want to put the condom on? Or should I?”

“I’ll do it.”

In a few seconds it’s done. At least he paid attention in sex ed classes. He holds her nicely. He’s very vanilla. It’s pleasant.

Lucky fingers herself open a little, making sure to get good and wet for him. He leans his head back on the sofa, breathing deep, shuddery breaths. He doesn’t look like he’s going to cum on her thigh, but she doesn’t want to risk it. After another few seconds, she reaches for his cock and rubs some of the lube over it.

“Ready?” she asks again.

One of his hands drops from her hip to clutch at the sofa cushion. “S-Sooner than later, Lucky.”

“Got it.”

She adjusts with a few short movements, trying to be quick and practical and _competent_ as she guides his dick into her. As the tip presses in, he lets out a sharp noise, and she grabs his hips to pull him in. She grinds.

“See?” she asks, a little breathless herself. “Nothing to it.”

“Ahh…!” His jaw hangs slack.

“Easy as breathing,” she adds. “Want a kiss?”

“Pleeease,” he whines.

Lucky holds his hip with one hand and cups his cheek with the other. She rocks slowly, making sure to keep him warm as she clenches around him. Noise just spills out of him, ragged moans and helpless little grunts when she sucks his tongue. His kisses get sloppy, hips twitching when she bites his neck. He clutches her hips tight, gritting his teeth and whimpering as she rolls her hips on him.

“That’s nice, Ivo,” she breathes. It is, too. Comfortable. He’s a little too stunned to do much but lay there and twitch, but it’s okay. “Is it feeling good for you?”

His voice cracks. “A-Affirmative. You’re— aw, fuck—”

“Sure am. Fucking you. Here’s sex. It’s just being warm, and wet, and feeling good together. Nothing mysterious.”

His face scrunches, like he finds that gross. Fair play if he does. Sex is kinda gross, and she knows better than most people. But he still grinds up against her, body carried away on how good it can be.

His thigh starts to twitch. It makes her smile. Having a tell like this certainly makes him easy to read. She considers his face, his rough breathing, his clutching hands, and decides that cherry won’t pluck itself. 

Lucky leans in, kisses under his jaw, and mutters, “You’re doing a damn good job, darling.” 

Ivo makes a loose noise mostly made out of consonants and scrambles a hand between them. Lucky doesn’t mind the feeling of leather, but his fingertips are clumsy and none-too-coordinated as he fumbles at her clit. It’s distracting, but not unpleasant, until it is. 

She bites his neck, making him seize, and leans back to get a look at him. She puts on a big smile and grabs his wrist, pulling him away. “You’re sweet. But don’t worry, Ivo.”

Their hips trace short, quick crescents on the sofa cushions. Lucky gives him the Bambi eyes and licks the tips of his fingers. He looks like he’s been slapped. 

“This one’s _all_ about you.” She sucks two fingers into her mouth and moans. 

Ivo squeals when he cums. Beneath her his thighs turn to rock and his head slams back so hard he could’ve given himself a concussion if he weren’t on soft furniture. Lucky rides him through it, coming to a steady halt as he starts shivering. 

His fingers slide out of her mouth. She almost smiles at him, but then he bursts into tears.

* * *

Twenty-five minutes later, Lucky is sitting on the sofa with Ivo, patting his shoulder. She’s beginning to worry about him dehydrating through his eyes, but every time she tries to get up to get him a bottle of water his whole body shakes so hard he looks like he’s about to break into bits.

He paid for five hours. They’ve got four hours and 20 minutes left.

Mumbling words from her homework seem to help. His sobs soften as he tries to listen, and sometimes his face just leaks while he struggles to steady his breathing.

She ain’t saying shit until he talks first.

When he finally slows down, enough that she thinks he could be falling asleep, he says, “Hormone secretion.”

“For sure.”

“I have low dopamine.”

“That’d do it.”

“And if you cut me in half lengthwise you’d find a man-shaped solid core of cortisol.”

“I don’t doubt it.”

“Figuratively speaking.”

“Yes.”

“Hormones don’t work that way.”

“So have I heard and do in part believe it,” Lucky intones.

“Great. Humanities,” Ivo sneers.

“Dancing and theatre,” she reminds him.

“Do you have any bottled water?”

She manages to unwind his limbs long enough to get three bottles from the kitchenette and then make it back before the sobs start shaking him again. He chugs one, face dripping, skin so hungry it seems to be trying to pull itself off of him and cling onto her.

Mostly, she’s just thinking about Krishna.

“Maybe a massage?” she asks. “Circulate your lymph a little.”

“I think I’m going to die first.”

“Cool. We have standard practice for dealing with dead bodies, y’know. Call girls. There’s a certificate.”

Ivo snorts wetly from where his head is resting on her shoulder. “Trade you.”

“No way.”

“Doctorate in Bioengineering.”

“After I gave up a whole Sunday at the learning annex? You’ll have to do better than that.”

“Physics?”

“Bullshit.”

“Chemistry, and no more.”

“Bullshit you got a Physics degree, I mean.”

“I have five doctorates. Only two of them were fun. I can drop one of the others.”

Lucky glances at him. “I’m going to be a lawyer and Eastern Classics professor with a Vitamix and my own pony. I don’t want your trash.”

“A Vitamix? What are you, a Rockefeller?”

They sit there, under a blanket that will be thoroughly sanitized later. His hair is very soft and nice to touch, once the shell of product is cracked. Soft. She pets him with her fingertips, thinking of fur.

He falls asleep on her shoulder and wakes when she shifts to grab her papers.

“How you doing?” she asks.

“I’d take you up on that coffee again,” he mutters.

“Okay. Otherwise?”

“Fine, nurse.”

“I mean, you’ve been deflowered. Might feel some kind of way about that.”

He scowls at her, but she passes her hand down his arm and he settles again. He’s like a big cat. A lot of hissing and sharp pointy bits, but it takes very little to calm him down.

“I said I’m fine. Virginity is stupid. Nothing to write home about.”

“Don’t put that on my Yelp review.”

He snorts again.

“Did you have fun, is what I should’ve asked.”

“Imprecision. Very sloppy. I rescind a star.”

He’s an asshole. She’s kind of having a good time. “It was an honor just to be nominated.”

He sits quiet for a while. At last, he says, “In the words of the Magic 8-Ball, outcome unclear.”

“Fair enough. You’ve got another few hours,” Lucky says. “Do you want to rest? Or is there anything else you’re keen on?”

He stills, a little, wakefulness now a definite pressure across his body. “You’d do that?”

“It’s your dime, Ivo. I can do just about anything. I mean, I’d have to get some gear, and maybe do a grocery run, but…”

She can’t see his face, because it’s pressed to her shoulder, but she feels the heat.

“Maybe. A few minutes. I’m not sure I can go twice.”

“Works for me.”

He snuffles a little. “A kiss?”

Lucky dips her head down and meets him. He picked up the finer points of kissing fast, and this time it’s soft and sweet and warm. Enough to feel good for her, as well as him. He’s awfully romantic, for such a weirdo.

“I appreciate,” he says, murmuring against her mouth, “the alleviation of my ignorance. And the instruction in new skills.”

She’s got a hard rule about speculating about her clients.

Sock garters, she thinks. Somebody’s gonna get it.

* * *

“Hi Anouk. Yeah. Ha, yeah, no, the essay went over well. Solid B. That’s all it deserved, I don’t— I mean, I kind of feel like I’m talking out my ass and no two French-speaking groups are alike, right, so exactly what weight my opinion can have is a little up in the air. Listen, I called about my paycheck—

“No, see, because I only worked 15 hours last week…

“I know, nice problems to have, right? But seriously, if there’s a fuck up in the books I don’t want Jaqueline on my ass. Can you check?

“... hey. Thanks. What’s news?

“Oh, shit. No, I’m not going to actually spend it on a Vitamix. Okay. Well… sure.

“Yeah. Next week? Eight’s fine.”


End file.
